


Guilt

by aqxas



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, in which mukuro lives ... (kind of), my first posted fanfic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqxas/pseuds/aqxas
Summary: Mukuro Ikusaba is alive, whether she wants to be or not.





	

      In all my years on this miserable planet, never have I witnessed such raw, twisted events. As I write this, my hand shakes, for I fear the force that possessed these former comrades of mine might soon lead to my own fate, as it nearly did. Behind a monitor I watched carefully, this game of killing orchestrated by my dear sister, and ever since she began this project I had always felt so very guilty. Her mission was the raise hell, to destroy both the human mind and morals, and watch every second - she took some sort of demonic delight in watching her peers fall one by one. She had knocked them out and locked them up in this empty school, pitting them against each other with the one rule of survival of the fittest, the reward being release. At first, they were understandably horrified - I was on the inside at the time, masquerading as another, and saw in each of their eyes the slow realization of the terrible reality.

      I don’t know when my sister first started losing herself. Maybe it was when we were young, when we had our lives changed forever by the wicked man we once knew to be our father, each bruise tearing away at her mind. Maybe it was just the pressure of the whole world, the societal push to never chip her perfectly pink nail polish, or smudge her expensive makeup. Or maybe, she had just had just sought beauty in the despair.  
Everything had been going according to our script: they are horrified, they begin to fight, they sink deeper. But the first kill of the game was unplanned, and although my sister took delight in the horrifying surprise, I felt my heart tear in half. Out of all the candidates, the souls who could have fallen, my most cherished had become the victim. She was laying on the bathroom floor, her beautiful long hair stringy over her face, a knife sticking out of her stomach like a skewer. Her blood was everywhere, the lone light bulb shining on her pale face like a morbid Renaissance painting, and I felt my stomach churn. I had to leave as fast as I could, because although I had witnessed worse in all my days, the fact that she didn’t deserve this… It almost made me regret participating in her little plot.  
      But, the show must go on, so I tried to recover and stick to the script once more. I pretended to be outraged, I threw a fit to demonstrate what punishment against the faceless ringleader would look like. However, another plot twist hit me unexpectedly, and quite literally. I remembered that she was supposed to just hit me, knock me out as a warning to the others. I didn’t even know the spears were there.  
      All at once, I was impaled, the sharp poles piercing my body in every place they could. My blood splattered all over the floor, and I tried to catch my breath to no avail. Betrayal was the only thing I felt, and as my fading eyes scanned the horrified faces of my peers, one thought crossed my mind:  
      I’m sorry.  
      My whole world went black.

      The next thing I knew, I was waking up with my sister’s grinning face inches from mine. She told me good morning in her signature sing-song tone, and as I started to sit up on the cold lab table, my whole body was racked with intense pain, and I groaned loudly in agony. My clothes were torn to shreds, and the freckled skin peeking through the tears was covered in thick bandages and dried blood. Through whatever miracle, I was still alive, and I wasn’t quite sure whether or not that was a good thing.  
      She led me to her room, an office in this gigantic school of horrors, and I was astonished by the sheer amount of cameras she had set up around the entire building. I could watch over them all at once, the big eye in the sky, and be completely safe from the chaos below. It was god-like. It made toying with their lives easier.  
      The events that unfolded soon enough were unlike any I had seen, the raw human insanity slowly accumulating and exploding over and over again, murder upon murder and punishment upon punishment dealt, punks beaten and liars burned, innocents strung up like dolls and lovers bleeding. My sister laughed and laughed, as if she were watching a bad movie, and I began to notice my feelings towards her changing. All my life I had been so utterly devoted to her every whim, her little toy soldier who followed the rules like a good little girl. After everything, after almost being killed by her, I had still stayed. But the dominos began to fall as the bodies of our classmates dropped, whittling away at my blind devotion and turning me into the one thing she despised most: a creature of hope. The very thing she wished to destroy forever, I had found within myself. I made it my mission to aid the survivors in any way I could, attempting to slip hints to escape underneath my sister’s watchful eye. Soon, though, I think she caught on to my scheme, and a blow was delivered to swiftly to my head that my quick reflexes couldn’t stop it.  
      After that, I’m unaware of what exactly happened, but judging from the footage I have reviewed, she used the deceased body of one of the other students to play with them all, make them think it was me, and even went so far as to detonate a small bomb over “my” corpse to disguise the true identity. The fake tattoo, which mimicked my own, was the surviving detail, which led to the group’s discovery of my identity as the mysterious “16th student”, even though I had been faking the entire time I was “alive”.  
      I cannot begin to tell you why she did this. If she had not planted the fake body, if she had not tampered with the situation in any way, she could have won this little game of hers. Everyone could be dead by now, and she would come out on top with the pride of knowing that she was successful in driving everyone to the breaking point. She could’ve taken her own brand of sick joy in the deaths of everyone she used to know. But for some reason, she threw in a wrench. She gave them a little scrap of hope, a little clue to the mystery, which wound up being her undoing. The six survivors, the ones I admire and fear now more than ever, unraveled her bit by bit, exposing her and calling her out for all she had done. In one last confrontation, one last battle of wits, they destroyed her, and used her own rules against her to sentence her to her own grave. She obliged.  
      Maybe her plan all along was not to emerge victorious. Perhaps this was a twisted suicide mission, a last hurrah to the world, and she figured that if she was going to go down, she would take everyone else with her. She wanted to drag it out, enjoy it, be completely filled with lovely despair until the grand finale.  
      I sit in an abandoned classroom now, my journal crumpled and torn, and I don’t believe my handwriting will ever be steady again. Not even the world’s most skilled psychologist could ever analyze my sister’s thought patterns and give me a straight answer as to why she did all this. I, we, will never know, for although there are many liars in the world, she was truly the queen.  
      My heart is thumping with anticipation as I see the survivors exit the open door they craved all this time. I wish that I could follow them to freedom, to forge a new life from the shambles of their mentalities. However, I can never face them. My guilt is too heavy, my burden of knowing that I went along with her plans and simply watched events unfold… I will never forgive myself for my sins, but I can live knowing that she cannot, and will not, ever return. Her reign of despair is over at last.  
      I can’t ever begin to shake the memory of the first victim. Now that everything is over, I miss her more than ever, and I would give anything to see her alive again. With all the war and all the horror I have ever been exposed to, keeping my facade up whenever I saw her body was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. A part of me was hoping and praying that she was going to survive somehow, and she could have, had I not been so utterly manipulated by my sister and sucked into a void of devotion and despair. If I could go back in time, and change everything… I would.  
      Now, I feel like I’m going to just go into hiding. There’s no place for me in this world anymore, no one’s orders to follow, no one to love. I’m a soldier with no mission and a person with no meaning.  
      Mukuro Ikusaba died with everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> woohoo to my very first fanfic ever published on here! i had to work up a lot of courage to do this.... ;v; i hope it's alright


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